Storm
by gf7
Summary: Wash returns from being OTG to find out about what had occurred between Taylor and Mira and she's none-too-pleased about him letting Mira go. Spoilers for 01X10- Now You See Me. Wash/Taylor.


A/N: My take on the aftermath of episode 10 - Now You See Me. This story presumes an existing romantic relationship between Wash and Taylor. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think. Thanks as always.

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><p>His first mistake he can at least rationalize away. When she returns from three incredibly long days out in the field, she's dirty and exhausted and looks to be in no mood for any kind of extended discussion. When she – as a simple matter of duty - offers to debrief him, aside from an amused and slightly dirty smirk that he can't quite stop from forming, he answers by shaking his head in the negative.<p>

"No need. You look like you could use a bath," Nathaniel Taylor rumbles, each of his large hands settling on her shoulders. He can feel the tension in her strong muscles, coiling like a snake about to pounce. Chances are, she's slept very little over the last several days – she rarely does when she's OTG. Even less so when she's the only armed member of the team.

"Yeah," she admits with a small sigh, her head rocking backwards. She relaxes into his touch, allowing his fingers to work their magic. "A very long one."

"Then we'll talk in the morning. Unless there's something you need to tell me," he offers, continuing his massage. She groans as he finds a particularly tight spot, kneading his fingers hard into the muscle. That he's somewhat turned on by the unintentional guttural sound she makes is something he's glad she doesn't notice. Right now, she hardly looks like she's in the mood for…anything else.

Alicia Washington almost laughs at his words. The field trip that she'd been out on had been important for sure, but hardly what one would could dangerous in the long run. Well, outside of the normal dangers presented by the jungle and those damned omnipresent Sixers. Neither of which had made an appearance .

"No, sir," she replies with a grunt as his thumb digs into one of her stiff muscles, urging it to relax. They're standing just a few inches apart (a very few indeed) in his darkened office, only the bright moonlight shining in through the room, slightly illuminating the surfaces and materials around them, but not their actual faces.

She'd come by his office, instinctually returning to the command center after being OTG. That and she'd known he'd be here waiting for her, and she would have been here waiting for him if he'd been outside for three days.

"Good. Then why don't you head home and take that bath. I'll see you in the morning." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Unless you want to…"

He doesn't finish the slightly sultry invitation, doesn't need to for her to understand what he means by it. She smiles slightly, caught between amused and amazed. Men. "Probably not a good idea," she answers after a beat. "You could come by, but I'm more likely to fall asleep in the bath first."

"Again," he chuckles.

She rolls her eyes. "Good night, Commander."

"Good night, Lieutenant," he tells her. It's somewhat amusing to him that they address each other by such formal terms even when they don't need to considering their…off-duty relationship with each other. It's their thing, though – their way of interacting with each other. It'd odd and usual, but their thing.

She nods and is about to turn to leave the office when he makes his second mistake; he steps back just a bit, and the moon catches him flush on the face. That's when she sees the cut there. Cleaned up and showing about two days worth of healing, but still there just the same.

She reverses course quickly, stepping directly into his personal space. "Where'd that come from?" she asks, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek. He catches it before it gets to him, his fingers intertwining with hers.

"It's nothing, Wash," he tells her, his tone artificially light. "Just a little scratch."

"You box with one of the boys?" she queries, already knowing that that isn't what had happened. If that had been the case, he'd have already been telling her about it, letting her know how proud she should be of one of her guys.

"Not exactly."

"Nathaniel…" There's a stark "don't bullshit me" kind of warning in her tone. She's tired and cranky and after several days OTG, she's in no mood for games.

He sighs. "Mira."

Wash's eyebrow jumps into her hairline. "She did that to you?" Then, her expression morphing into a dark frown, "You let her?"

"She got the drop on me. It happens." There's an implication in his tone, a reminder that not too long ago, she too had been taken down by Mira. He needn't worry about her forgetting that, though. There's no way she could ever forget it.

"When?" Wash demands, slapping his hand away, and again moving her fingers to check the wound. It's in fine shape, but that doesn't keep her from trailing a finger across the length of it, inspecting its' edges skeptically.

"A couple days ago. I went over to look at the rocks. See what Lucas had been putting on them. Wanted to see if there was anything new."

Wash purses her lips, frustration flashing darkly in her eyes. "And?"

"He's close. You know what that means."

"I do," she nods. Satisfied that the cut is, in fact, no big deal, she steps away, and crosses her arms across her chest. "So, how did Mira get the…drop on you?"

"It's a long story, and I can tell you every bit of it in the morning."

Wash ignores him, pushes on. "What happened to her?"

"Part of that same story. And it's complicated."

He should have known better than to say that. A dangerous look passes over her, and he knows that she has no intention of letting this conversation wait now.

"Complicated?" It's an incredibly patronizing term, and it rather pisses her off.

He sighs. "I let her go, Wash."

For a moment, the urge to do something truly violent crosses her mind. Mira isn't just some crazy misunderstood wild child wandering aimlessly around the woods. No, this is the cool and calculated woman who has been their mortal enemy for several years now, the same woman who had slammed the muzzle of a rifle against her temple a few months back, a nasty blow which had knocked her dead out, leaving the lieutenant completely at the mercy of the Sixers.

Instead of indulging that violent impulse, Wash says through tightly clenched teeth, "I'm assuming you had your reasons for letting her go instead of bringing her back and throwing her ass into the brig?"

"I did."

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do, Lieutenant."

"You're right," she replies with an angry nod. "I don't. But I'm tired, and this is looking like an argument about to happen, and I am not in the mood for it."

"Doesn't have to be an argument unless you make it one."

That's his third mistake, and he knows it immediately.

Her jaw clenches, and fury surges through her dark eyes. For a moment, she looks absolutely feral (and rather beautiful, he stupidly thinks). She steps closer to him, narrowing the gap between them down to a few precious centimeters.

"Why did you let her go?" she growls. It's a decidedly disrespectful and insubordinate tone, but he'd be a fool to call her on that now.

So, of course, that's exactly what he does. "Watch yourself, Wash."

She blinks, and now she's really angry. She stares up at him in stark disbelief, as if wondering what the hell he could possibly be thinking. Right now, he realizes perhaps a bit too late, this isn't his oldest and most trusted lieutenant demanding answers, it's his lover. And she's somewhere beyond furious.

"Wash…"

She just holds up a hand to silence him.

"I'm going to bed," she snaps, then turns and storms out of the office without saying another word.

Once the door to the office has slammed shut, and he can hear the sharp crunch of her boots as she rapidly descends the stairs, he sighs, runs his fingers through his hair, and mutters, "Well that was smart."

* * *

><p>She meets him the next morning for the pre-dawn patrol, as usual. She greets him with a curt nod and then falls into step beside him.<p>

"How'd you sleep?" he asks her, his tone light and conversational. It's a bit of a gamble to act like she's not pissed at him, to pretend their dust up from the previous evening had never occurred.

"Like a baby," she answers, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. The professional edge has returned, enough at least for her to claim that she's just answering him directly instead of throwing attitude at him.

"Feeling more rested?"

"Yes, sir."

"Muscles still tense?"

"No, sir."

"Good."

She simply nods in reaction to that.

They walk the perimeter in silence for the next hour, the sun rising up slowly into the sky as they verify the safety of Terra Nova. During that time, the only conversation that passes between them are comments about what they see or don't see. It's all a little but unsettling, and he's both annoyed and impressed by her ability to not only give him a cold shoulder, but practically throw it at him.

"Wash," he starts as they end up back at the main tower. He takes her by the shoulder, and forces her to look at him.

"Unless the next words out of your mouth are an explanation about what happened with Mira, I don't really want to hear it," she cuts in, then, after a brief pause, adds, "Sir."

"I need you to trust me."

"I do, sir. Completely."

"Then trust me here. I have a feeling about this."

"About letting _that_ woman go?" Absently, she lifts a hand up to the side of her face, scratching at the skin, which just a few months earlier had been bruised up thanks to Mira and her rifle. Wash isn't the kind to spend much time worrying about old wounds. She doesn't even really carry around a whole lot of grudges (she, like Taylor, has no real care nor use for Boylan, and yet has no real hatred of the man either, despise his easy ability to turn his back on the Service). Still, there's not a single ounce of sympathy or even compassion within her for Mira.

"Yes," he says. He glances around. "Look, can we continue this…discussion somewhere in private?"

An absolutely childish thought flies through her mind, and for about half a second, she actually considers voicing the response that is absolutely sure to start an explosive fight on the spot (something like "why, so you can try undressing your way out of this), but somehow, she manages to bite that back, and reply in a terribly stiff tone, "Fine, sir."

He gestures up towards his office. She steps in front of him, and leads the way up the steps, allowing him to trail a few feet behind her. Again, accepting that her train of thought right now is far from mature and professional, she wants him thinking about what he did and why she's so pissed. She wants him wondering.

Good for his soul, she muses. And somehow, even thinking that lightens her spirits just a bit.

Once in his office, however, Nathaniel quickly takes control right back. Before she can even think to block him (and really, she should have been better prepared, she knows this man too well not to have been) he has her by both wrists, and is slamming her up against the wall, his lips pressed against hers.

Her thoughts roughly go in the order of – ouch that hurt, dammit I'm going to kill him, oh boy this feels good and is that all you have?

And then she pushes him away, roughly wiping at her mouth. "Really?"

"Really," he says with a smirk.

"You think that's going to make me less pissed at you for letting that _woman_ go?"

"No, probably not."

"So…"

"I just thought you looked a bit tense."

"I am a bit tense. You know damn well what she wants to do to us. Nathaniel, she sent Carter to murder you, do you remember that?"

"I do."

"Then with all due respect, sir, what the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that there is one hell of a storm coming, Wash, and maybe she's not as committed to her path as she thinks she is. She's doing this because they promised if she helped them take us down, they'd return her daughter to her. But we both know, Wash, that's not going to happen. And I bet she does, too."

"That's not worth this gamble. She can't be trusted."

"I agree, Wash. But I think maybe she's better out there then in here."

"Explain."

"Look, if we capture her, who becomes the leader of the Sixers?"

"That little prick Carter."

"And do you doubt Carter would have killed you if he'd been the one in charge when you and Dunham got ambushed?"

"Not for a minute."

"She hasn't killed any of our men, Wash. Hasn't allowed anyone to be more than beat up a bit. She could have done a lot more, and we both know it. This isn't about that for her, though. This is about her daughter."

"This is going to bite us in the ass."

"Maybe," he admits. "But I think it was a gamble I had to take." He steps closer to her again, an arm sweeping around her waist. "You've trusted every other risk that I ever taken. I need you to trust me here."

"If this ends up getting my ass kicked, I won't ever forgive you," she answers before leaning in and pressing her forehead against his. He pulls her closer to him, his hands tightening around her back.

"Yes, you will."

She simply snorts in response to that. Mostly because he's right.

"Things are about to get very ugly," he whispers a few moments later. "I can feel it in my bones."

"Last time you said that…"

"You almost died."

"Yeah," she responds.

He wants to promise her that he won't let that happen again, wants to promise that he won't let her be hurt, but he's not a man who makes vows that he can't absolutely keep. Instead, in response, he nuzzles into her neck, pressing a kiss against her skin.

"You know you could have told me all of this," she says as his hand slides up under the hem of her tank, his fingers lightly dancing over her skin.

"You didn't want to hear it last night."

She pulls back from him then, earning her an annoyed grunt. "What are you talking about?"

"You hate that woman."

"Do you blame me?"

"I don't completely understand it," he admits. "Do you hate the bastard who knifed you? Or the one who popped you three times?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She steps away from him. Right now, she doesn't feel like his lover or even his lieutenant. She feels like the medic who had just been assigned to his unit, a young and very green soldier without a clue on how to stay alive. Right now, she feels like the slightly scared young woman who'd forced herself to meet his eyes on the day they'd met, knowing that if she didn't, she'd never earn his respect.

"Because they were just doing what we were doing. Surviving however they had to," she answers, her voice calm. She's speaking the truth; she'd long since forgiven even grunt who had ever wounded her during the war – most of them kids believing the same thing that she had: kill or be killed.

"You don't think that's exactly what Mira's doing? Some of those others – guys like Carter – they're doing this because they're Soldiers of Fortune. They don't care who gets hurt. They just know that if they do what they're told to do, there will be a massive reward at the end. For Mira, that reward is her daughter."

"You think her daughter is dead?"

"No, I'm fairly certain that she's still alive. Mira's too damned smart not to be demanding proof of life every time they give her an order. But once they get what they want, both Mira and her daughter will become evidence of what they've done, which means…"

"They'll both be killed."

Taylor nods, suddenly looking very weary. He's no stranger to politics; you don't climb the ranks of anything – even the military – without having to play a few games. Even getting put in charge of Terra Nova had required a bit of it. He knows what often has to be done to ensure that there are no paper trails leading back to an act of evil. And he knows for damn sure that Mira is one.

"She probably knows that," Wash says with a frown.

"Probably, and she probably thinks she has a way out, but unless we stop these people, no one is going to be safe. Not you, not me. Certainly not her."

"I hate that woman," she mutters, somewhat petulantly.

"Why? Pride?"

She flinches a bit at that, but can't quite deny it as much as she'd like to. Somehow, being taken down in an ambush (even one in which she'd held her own in for a good long amount of time) burns at her far worse than getting a knife in her side or three bullets to the chest. "I suppose," she admits.

"Well get over it," he answers, again stepping close to her. He puts a hand on either side of her face. "We need our heads in the game, and hating that woman won't accomplish that."

"I feel like a recruit again," she mutters.

He laughs. "No, no. Because if you were just a recruit, well then I wouldn't be doing this." He then leans in and kisses her, pressing his lips against hers.

"I suppose not," she whispers when he pulls back. She reaches up and traces the now almost completely healed cut on his face.

"So you're still with me then?"

She laughs. "Are you really going to make me say something so corny."

"Nah."

"Thank you."

And with that, she leans up and kisses him again, pulling him towards her. The motion is dramatic enough that when he tumbles towards her, it throws her off balance, and she stumbles back against the desk. He's between her knees within seconds, one leg on either side of her left knee. The kiss deepens, quickly become heated with him leaning over her. He breaks it only to move his mouth to her neck, pressing quick kisses down her skin.

"Nathaniel," she mumbles.

"Mm."

"Staff meeting."

"What?"

"We have a staff meeting in five minutes. We have to…you have to stop."

He pulls back enough to see her staring at a digital clock on the wall. True enough, it shows that it's about five minutes to oh-seven-hundred hours. Also known as the time when the unit heads from every major group (Science, Medical, Finance etc…) will be reporting to the office to go over the week ahead.

He groans and rocks backwards, away from her.

"Later," she promises. "Now help me up so I don't look…like I look."

"Beautiful?" he offers with an impish grin.

"No," she chuckles dryly. "Like I was just on my back."

He snorts. "Never, Wash." He offers her a hand and pulls her to her feet, then watches in amusement as she quickly recomposes herself. She doesn't wear much makeup so for her, it's just realigning her clothes. By the time the door opens and Jim and Elizabeth are entering, she doesn't look like anything at all had been occurring just minutes earlier.

Of course that doesn't stop Jim from smirking at her as if to suggest he knows exactly what had been going on. She simply rolls her eyes in response.

The room fills up quickly – close to fifteen different souls coming together. It's noisy as always, several conversations going on as they always do before Taylor inevitably calls the meeting to order.

This time, though, he allows the noise to fill the room for a few extra moments.

This time, he uses it to mask his voice as he leans in towards his lieutenant. "I need you with me," he says.

"I'm always with you, sir" she whispers in response. "Always."

He allows himself a small smile at that, then turns towards the group. "All right, if everyone will shut up, we can get going and then you can get out of my office."

Laughter follows that as it always do. Leaning back against the wall, she watches as he takes the floor, directing the meeting in a way that only he can.

She thinks about what he'd spoken of – the storm to come. He's right; she can feel it, too. Deep in her bones.

She also knows exactly where she'll be when it happens.

**-Fin.**


End file.
